Unsanctionable
by Ann Derry
Summary: Jon Moxley must remove his PG softness to become a success in Japan. A sassy sports psychologist with an unusual way of connecting with her clients thinks she can help but does she really know who she is dealing with? Jon Moxley/OC enjoy an intense training session for his first match in Japan. Warning - Dom/Sub. Adults Only.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and welcome to this new story – my first Jon Moxley story! Which has been brewing in my mind since Mox dropped his promo video on Twitter back in May and had that great run in Japan. As always, please remember that this is a work of pure fiction and is not intended to be a reflection of the true character of Jonathan Good – it's simply an interpretation of a fictional Jon Moxley character set in a fictional world. I only own my OC. Hope you enjoy. Please leave a review if you do. Thanks**

**PS – Happy Shield Anniversary Week **

I'm used to dealing with alpha males. I like dealing with alpha males. Especially when I hear them growl out my name in the bedroom. That's when I get the upper hand. And normally they don't intimidate me. Oh, they excite me - yes. Fulfill my needs - yes but as I stand in a Japanese dojo watching a six-foot-four, brooding demi-god punch and kick the shit out of a heavy bag, I must admit that I'm apprehensive.

He hasn't even acknowledged my presence and I start to wonder if I am needed at all. He looks totally bad-ass already and not in need of extra help to hone his aggression and approach to no mercy in his choice of combat sport. The noise of his fists hitting the black leather reverberates through the room. He lets out a delicious, gruff sound each time he connects, and I can already imagine his voice being be low and rough. Although his back is facing me and he is covered in a black hoodie, his frame speaks of strength and power. I can imagine his glorious musculature rippling underneath as he exerts himself during his workout.

I have an unusual job. Well, not a job per say, it's more of a lifestyle. I get to travel the world first class, stay in five-star hotels and all expenses are paid. I'm not a party girl but my job does involve sex and lots of it with totally gorgeous men. Whoever asks me what I do for a living gets the same answer, I'm a sports psychologist specialising in combat sports. I just leave the sex part out. Granted, sometimes I only use my sports psychology degree to work with clients in the traditional way. Helping them to work through any weaknesses that may hinder performance and boost their own mental toolkit to become champions. This time however, I know that talking through this guy's technique in the ring will not do. Jon Moxley has booked me to remove any soft edges he acquired after years in the PG friendly WWE. He wants to return to a time when he gave zero fucks and had death matches for fun.

I'm not alone with Jon Moxley in that dojo and I try to ignore the stares from Japanese wrestlers working out and lifting weights. The heavy bag is set in front of a huge mirror and I can see now that he must have seen me arrive twenty minutes ago and decided to leave me to wait for him. I shouldn't feel annoyed, he is paying me for my time anyway and he's not meant to treat me nicely. Quite the opposite in fact. A handsome, young Japanese man is spotting the bag for my newest client and Mox stops his workout to talk to him and they both look my way. Just for a second our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror and his stare burns through me with heat and intensity. It's unnerving

Only a few top-class athletes have had the privilege of using my special services and I fell into it by chance a few years ago. My first client was a Middleweight Boxer, an absolute gentleman – and that was the problem. He had undeniable talent and won a lot of fights on boxing skill alone but he could not find the right level of aggression to become champion. Until I started working with him. He needed to learn how to dominate and one day in the gym, we stopped talking and started working together physically. A few sessions with me and he won his first world championship.

I'm dressed for the gym in relaxed work out gear, a crop top is covered with a loose-fitting vest and I also wear long running tights and trainers. Well, I'm not going to turn up in a gym full of men dressed for a night out am I? I've already checked into my hotel which is the height of luxury and has views across the city. A black limousine brought me here at the agreed time and now here I am awaiting my client's attention.

The young man hands Mox a towel and shouts something in Japanese to the rest of the people in the Gym. He waves his hand and I guess that he is telling them to vacate the room. Quickly the room starts to clear. I take a deep breath and watch Mox, who still has his back to me. His apprentice approaches me and bows.

"Greetings Miss, I am Shota. Mr Moxley will be ready for you shortly but he respectively asks that you give me your phone and hotel key for safekeeping." He holds out his hand. "I will return when you are done.

Alarm bells ring. That's not something I've ever agreed to. In fact, it's an outrageous risk that I am not sure I am willing to take, despite the spoils I am about to receive.

I shake my head. "Please tell Mr Moxley that I can't agree to that, "I say.

"Shota looks worried and whispers back to me. "Mr Moxley is very particular about this condition. Please, he is not used to being told no and I think it will reflect badly on you if you do not do as he asks."

The boy is very polite and in an awkward situation. Hell, it seems both of us are. Shota tries with me again. "I promise that I will return both to you afterwards, when you are ready to go back to your hotel."

I think about this rationally. We've both signed an NDA, my copy of which is with my lawyer so it's not like no one knows where I am. There is a line of safety for me.

As I contemplate my decision, Mox's voice rings out as deep, gruff and honey laden as I imagined. It sends a dangerous thrill straight through me.

"Is there fucking problem, Shota?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, sorry for the long delay with this update. Warning - Please be aware that this is for adults only! Please remember that this is a work of pure fiction and is not intended to be a reflection of the true character of Jonathan Good – it's simply an interpretation of a fictional Jon Moxley character set in a fictional world. I only own my OC. Thank you to all you who have taken the time to review. Hope you enjoy chapter two. How awesome is it to see Mox doing his thing in AEW and Japan? I'm loving it. He looks so happy and he deserves all the success in the world. **

"Tell him there's no problem," I say hurriedly in hushed tones and thrust my safety net of phone and hotel key into Shota's hands. I must be crazy but I've decided I want this man and will take a risk to get what I want. Shota nods gratefully and is clearly relieved. "There is no problem, Master Moxley." He bows to me, then in the direction of Mox and leaves the dojo, closing the double doors behind him.

I'm suddenly aware of how silent the vast room has become. It's so quiet, I can almost hear my heart thumping as it rackets around in my chest. Its rhythm becomes even more erratic as I watch this brooding demi-god swipe the black hood from his head. He has not yet fully turned to face me and I notice that there is a scar about halfway up the back of his shaved skull. His dirty blonde hair is a couple of inches longer on his crown but the short style is counteracted by a heavy stubble on his strong chin which balances out his gorgeous features perfectly

I feel like I should say something to him but 'Hi, nice to meet you' doesn't seem appropriate. From his demeanor I reckon that I should only speak when spoken to. He rolls his shoulders as if readying himself for a fight and slowly turns towards me. I can't prevent my sharp intake of breath as I survey his golden torso. His hoodie is unzipped and as he slowly approaches, he shrugs it off revealing a powerful upper body honed for combat. As it falls to the floor, it's clear that he knows the effect he is having on me. I can tell that because his blue eyes express amusement as I shift from foot to foot and touch my hair for comfort not knowing what to do or say. This is not like me but I am rendered a quivering wreck in his presence and he hasn't even touched me yet.

He stops less than a foot away. The whole room seems to shrink and I am only aware of HIM. I glance up and as his piercing eyes meet mine, I quickly look away to compose myself. His head tilts to one side and he lets out a gruff dismissive sound. A panic that I cannot quell rises and I think I've displeased him already. Not a good move.

His voice breaks the silence. "Look at me," he says. I close my eyes for a second or two and take a slow calming breath. Before I get a chance to do as he asks, his hand encircles my throat and my eyes flash open in shock. "I said look at me," he growls. "When I ask you to do something, you do it immediately. Understand?"

I nod, a thrill shoots through me but a nod is obviously not what he wants either. He's not applying any pressure to my neck yet but the intent is there. His forearm is like granite and the power he has over me is intoxicating. I feel an urge to defy him to see what he will do next. I'm the one who needs to get a grip on the situation. After all, I signed up to this knowing full well what I was getting myself into though maybe I misjudged how hard-edged this guy already was.

"You're not getting this, sweetheart are you? Answer me."

"I understand," I say while finally meeting his intense gaze.

He doesn't release me and I'm glad of that. I want his hands to touch me, even if their intent is to hurt or give pleasure, hopefully both.

"Do you think you can handle this?" he asks. "You look fucking terrified and we're barely getting started.

I square my shoulders and answer him without hesitation. "I can handle you," I say with as much bravado as I can muster.

His response is to let out a laugh, and he increases the pressure on my neck. "That's what I want to hear. I've got my first match in Japan tomorrow and I'm going to win of course but I need to dominate. I need to destroy my opponent."

"No mercy then?" I say breathlessly.

"That's right," he answers. "No mercy. People need to see that I've put all the goofy shit behind me."

"Hot dog carts and shots in the ass?" I say. I've seen the YouTube videos during his time at WWE and he's super talented on the microphone but clearly the material he was expected to deliver was not on his level.

He raises an eyebrow. "Good to know you've done your research."

He releases his grasp on my throat and slowly circles me as we continue to talk. All the time, I'm cautious with him. Taking care with my words to keep giving him what he wants. It's clear he is going to control our session and that suits me fine.

"No wonder you decided to not renew your contract," I say. I'm eager to get started. "Tell me what you want so we can draw out all that pent-up aggression." I already had a pretty good idea, but I wanted to hear his wicked intent from that sexy ass voice.

"You're going to do everything I tell you to do." He stroked his rough hand down my spine and I arched into his touch. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll beg me to stop."

Holy shit, that was what I needed to hear. "But you won't stop, will you?" I say, already knowing the answer. I'm not here to make love with him, I'm here to get fucked – hard – by Jon Moxley. A part of me wonders if he is capable of tenderness but tonight is all about sex not love.

He lets out a gruff noise as he grips my hair hard and buries his lips in my collarbone. "No, I'm not going to fucking stop. Not until I'm done with you."

His voice is slightly muffled and I cry out as his teeth graze my skin. He rips my top away and explores my breasts, nipping and sucking hard. It's just on the right side of painful, sending sparks of excitement shooting downwards. I wish to God that he would kiss me but I get the feeling that I won't get to experience that type of intimacy tonight.

I'm correct to think that as his next move is far from gentlemanly. He drags me by my hair over to the wrestling ring in the centre of the room pushing my upper body under the bottom rope so I am bent over for him. I can tell how much he is enjoying this first encounter as he pushes up against my ass and I feel him, right there, as big and hard as I imagined he would be. I let out a moan at the contact.

You want this dick, bitch?" he snarls.

"Yes," I whimper. I know that is exactly what he wants to hear but he is going to make me wait.

"You're going to have to earn it," he tells me. He slaps my ass at this point. Hard. I squeal and he does it again, then in one swift movement his removes my workout tights and I am naked before him. Though I can't see him at this point as he is standing behind me, I remember that he is wearing just a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His feet already bare. He blankets his long, muscular body on mine and presses my head sideways into the ring canvass. I love the feel of his weight holding me in place and he whispers menacingly in my ear.

"Get on your fucking knees and work for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone. Hope you are all OK. Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming. If you like your Mox dominant and demanding (but with a moral code) then this one is for you. Next chapter up fairly soon I hope… **

He peels me off the ring and tosses me away like I am nothing. I hit the ground in shock and roll onto all fours, glad that the floor is padded. I raise my head and there he is smirking down at me a meter or two away. I make a move to stand but he shakes his head.

"Nuh uh," he says. He crouches down to my level and curls a seductive index finger at me. "Crawl back to me. Slowly."

I've seen him in this position before, when he was a member of the Shield, taunting a stricken opponent in the middle of the ring. Oh, I enjoyed watching those videos when I was diligently researching Jon Moxley or Dean Ambrose as he was known back then. He was a wicked heel, cocky and malicious. Totally up my street. How I would love to be in a fatal-four-way with him, Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns. I made a mental note to ask him if he kept in touch. For reasons.

I do as he asks, crawling submissively and wondering what he has in store. When I reach him he cradles my head in his strong hands and for a second I think he is going to kiss me but no, he has other plans for my lips. I am pushed into the ring post, hitting my back hard so I have no escape and he towers above me. I can see the shape of him inches away from my face, its huge outline visible through his workout gear. He grips my hair again and reveals the most perfect dick I have ever seen.

"This is what you want right?" he says with a sly look on his beautiful face.

I want it immediately and he wastes no time in using my mouth for his pleasure. He has no regard for my comfort and I know it's my job to take it, even when he pushes in deep and grips my hair to hold me still while I choke from the lack of air. We have not discussed safe words but he releases me before I am too uncomfortable and I realise that I am in the hands of an expert. I pull in great lungfuls of air to recover.

"That was nothing," he mocks, holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You said you researched me in WWE but did you go back far enough?"

I furrow my brow, not understanding his question. As far as I knew, he joined developmental NXT and worked his way up from there. "I'm not sure what you mean?" I answer, racking my brains for a better response.

"You don't know what I am capable of darling," he said, "but you are sure as hell bringing it out of me again."

He bundles me on top of the ring once more and I whimper as he rakes his nails up my thighs leaving a trail of red marks. The heat that he has stoked within me has built to boiling lava. I am desperate for him to touch me where I need him to but he persists in exploring other parts of my body for his own ends, not mine. Then when I can almost bear it no more he takes pity on me, or so I think.

His mouth is on my neck again and I love the sound of his growl of enjoyment. I writhe against him, trying to encourage some deeper intimacy. I literally shriek when I feel his fingers fluttering my clit before sliding in deep and hard. So deep that I try to pull away from him. Mistake! He chuckles and increases the pressure, then he is relentlessly twisting and thrusting his fingers into me and I cannot take this anymore. My world explodes and as it does, he demands that I look at him. I do as he says of course and expect him to give me a breather but he doesn't. His hand stays where it is and starts all over again but I am spent and super sensitive.

"Please," I say. "Too much."

"Not enough," he replies. "You fucking do as I say in here. If not, then get out now. This is the second chance I've given you to change your mind. That's super generous. There won't be a third."

I realize that despite the depravity of what we are doing, he is checking in on me, making sure that I am still consenting to this. For the avoidance of doubt - I am. There is no way in hell I am giving up this experience, so I bear down on his hand and scream as he takes me to a place I never knew existed. My world is now all about HIM. Every touch, every slap, every graze of his white teeth against my skin is all I feel. All I know. There is nothing else. Nothing else matters except what he wants, what he desires.

I feel myself being lifted up and before I know it, I am standing on very shaky legs. He leads me to the ring ropes puts me in the position he wants and I anticipate the glorious feeling of having him inside me. With one foot on the rope, I am angled perfectly for him. I moan with absolute joy as he finally gives me what I need. My joy is shortlived as he becomes relentless and savage as he fucks me from behind. We are in the corner of the ring now, I'm holding on to the post. Leaning on it for support as he slams into me hard and fast. He has given me so much pleasure that I cannot take any more.

"Please," I cry out.

He ignores me and carries on. Spots of black appear in my vision as I explode again. My body can't take any more. He curses and trash talks me all the way through. Words I won't repeat here. Then in one swift movement, he crashes us both into the mat, just as if he is taking down an opponent for a submission move. The breath is knocked out of my chest and his strong arms encircle me, pulling me in close so I am tightly bound to him. He's breathing hard and I'm sure he is close to his own release. With a few final vicious thrusts, he roars with triumph and is finally done with me.

Every part of my body is on fire. I feel him move off me and am disappointed when he says nothing. I want to sob with a million feelings - joy, pain, shock, and awe among them - but I am too exhausted. He has already rolled out of the ring and is pulling on his clothes. I cannot move easily but I manage to lift up on one arm and he meets my gaze. I am shivering with cold and adrenaline. Oh, he is hardcore alright. There is no sympathy in his blue eyes, at least none that I can see. It's clear that he is just going to leave me here in the dojo. He picks up his hoodie as he saunters past the ring on his way out, then pauses and perhaps has a fit of conscience because he leans under the bottom rope and slides it across to me without a word. Then he is gone. I am alone and feel broken. I wrap the soft, black hoodie around me and curl up in a ball while allowing the tears to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, I get the impression that Mox needs to redeem himself somewhat in order for there to be a happy ever after. Well, here is a chapter that should send him in that direction. :) As always, reviews are welcome. PS - If you like this story, then check out my older Ambrose/Shield fics - Noticed, Fangirl and On Tour. **

I stay where I am, relishing the peace and quiet of the dojo. I couldn't tell you how long I lay in that ring with his hoodie wrapped around me. It surrounded me with his scent, a clean and sensual aftershave that also brought comfort as I still wanted to be near him, even though he had abandoned me in here.

I drag myself out of the ring and pull on my clothes which lay where he had discarded them. My top was ripped in two so I was glad of his gift as I zipped it up. I hear a soft knock at the door and part of me hoped it was Mox. But the figure that slipped quietly into the room was Shota. He approached me full of concern. I must have looked a mess.

Miss, please let me assist you,' he said as I waved him away. I didn't want to show anyone how I was feeling. I was trying hard to look normal when I was exhausted inside.

'I'm fine, thank you,' I say.

"He looked sympathetic and was his tone was very respectful. 'Please, I have your things just as I promised.' He handed me the little cardboard wallet which contained my hotel keys and my mobile.

'Thanks,' I say. Then curiosity overcame me. 'Have you,...seen him?' There was no need to name names, Shota knew who I meant. He nodded.

'Yes, Master Moxley has instructed me to escort you back to your hotel. He is very concerned about your welfare and insisted.'

I wasn't sure whether to be grateful for his concern or angry because he sent his apprentice to see to my needs. My previous clients had never left me like this.

'I guess it's pointless in saying no?' I say. Shota was kind and I didn't want him to get into trouble.

"Shota smiled, 'This is very true, Miss. Your car is waiting outside. Come, please.'

Awakening in the comfortable king-size bed in my luxury hotel room, I stretched over to the bedside cabinet to retrieve my phone and check the time. "Ow," I groaned to myself. The dull ache that seemed to permeate every muscle was still there. Not as bad as yesterday but I still hadn't ventured out of my room since Shota had helped me into it two nights ago. I had spent a lot of time sleeping, ordering room service and thinking about Jon Moxley.

I seriously underestimated him. Turns out that a quick internet search had revealed to me that the guy had a serious hardcore past. I didn't realize that in his early days, he was a crazy son of a bitch – drinking, womanizing and beating the shit out of anyone that stood in his way. He also had a high pain threshold so he didn't seem to mind having light-tubes smashed onto his head or being suplexed onto a bed of thumbtacks.

"As part of my booking I had received ringside tickets to his match yesterday but I felt too shaky to attend. I watched it in Japanese and found no need for English subtitles to see how dominant Moxley was. His match blew up the internet. Crazy to think that he was once a comedy interlude at his old company. I wasn't laughing once he'd done with me though, I didn't expect to feel so broken and used. Maybe it was the way he had left me abruptly without a word. He'd not checked on me since and that hurt almost as much as the physical pain I was experiencing. Tomorrow I would leave Japan and return to the US. I guess my work here was done.

The hotel room was a suite, spacious with a partially separated lounge and balcony which overlooked the city. It was mid-afternoon and I'd showered, dressed and had ordered room service as I felt hungry for the first time in two days. I was feeling better and had decided to head out later to take in the sights and sounds of Japan before my flight tomorrow. I was contemplating getting in touch with Shota, who had shown me so much kindness, to see if he might want a drink. My motives for that were not entirely altruistic. I wanted to know if Mox had mentioned me. I wanted to know how he was, who he was and explore why I wanted him so much, still. Even after the way he had treated me.

I was padding across the lounge to retrieve a glass of water from the bedside table when I heard the door click open. "Just leave it by the balcony, thanks," I called, assuming my food had arrived.

The voice that answered was not Japanese. It was a low American rumble. "Your room service just got canceled."

Was I hearing things? I paced into the lounge and stopped dead in my tracks. Jon Moxley was in my hotel room, a bottle of Asahi beer in hand. He was dressed all in black, a Gold's Gym T-shirt with black jeans and a studded belt, reminiscent of his Shield days which added to the menace in his countenance. As soon as he stepped toward me, I instinctively dropped to my knees and prepared myself for whatever he wanted. I heard him chuckle, for I dare not look him in the eye. Then, I felt his hand stroke my hair, his fingers sweeping down my flushed cheeks and under my chin.

"Get up," he said softly.

Confused, I immediately responded and rose to stand. My pulse was racing and I could practically feel my heart beating in my throat. How did he get in? Then I realized why he had asked Shota to take my room key. I could have sworn that the hotel reception had given me two keys, but I could only find one. Now I knew where it had gone.

"What are you doing here?" I asked shakily.

He almost looked offended. He narrowed his blue eyes and took a long, measured sip of his beer before answering evenly.

"You didn't come to see my match. I just wanted to check you were OK."

"Oh," I said, completely taken aback. So, he noticed my absence then. That was exciting. The way he'd left me broken and alone in the dojo, I thought I would never see him again.

"I also wondered if you wanted some company. Dinner maybe and a few drinks." He gestured to a six-pack of beer sitting on the coffee table that he must have brought with him. "To say thank you for helping me prepare."

"I eyed him warily. He seemed so different from the man who had me at his sexual mercy forty-eight hours ago. As much as I enjoyed my first encounter with him, I had been longing to have another chance to get to know him better. I was keen to experience this softer, attentive side of Jon Moxley.

"That would be cool, thanks," I say.

"He took a beer, removed the bottle top off by banging it on the corner of the coffee table and handed it to me. "Kanpai," he said and I repeated the Japanese salutation and clinked his bottle before taking a mouthful of the ice-cold beverage.

"So, did you even watch my match?" he asked.

"Yes, it was very violent," I answered. "Wild. Did you actually bite the guy?"

Moxley smiled. "Yep, well now they all know what they are up against. Thanks to you.

"You're welcome," I say as if I'd just held a door open or something just as mundane and move towards the sofas. I gently lower myself onto the big squashy chair, groaning lightly as I land.

He notices. "I've hurt you haven't I, baby?" he says. His voice is full of concern.

"It's nothing," I say. The last thing I want him to think is that I can't handle it.

Immediately, he is by my side, placing his drink down and caressing my arm. "I'm not here for an exact repeat of the dojo. Not that I wouldn't love to fuck the shit out of you right now, but I think you need something else tonight."

My insides liquefy at his words and his nearness. I can't help but lean into his chest, savoring his clean masculine scent. He smells gorgeous and his arms encircle me. He whispers in my ear. "I'm going to make you feel so good." His mouth ever so gently meets mine and I am suddenly in heaven.


End file.
